


Necklace of Eternity

by alphaparrot



Series: The Necklace of Fate [3]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Angst, Domestic Fluff, Horses, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Memory Loss, Slow Burn, Soulmates, day 3: seasons/fantasy au, fairgameweekend2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:01:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26830345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alphaparrot/pseuds/alphaparrot
Summary: Clover emerges from the rift Raven tore in the universe, into a world he doesn't recognize. As he sets off to find Qrow, he begins to fit into this world more and more, unaware of the danger he is in.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Series: The Necklace of Fate [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952527
Comments: 17
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my Day 3 submission for Fair Game Weekend -- Seasons/Fantasy AU! This is the third part of the Necklace of Fate series, and will be best-enjoyed if you read the other two first--but it should work okay on its own. This has not yet been edited, coming pretty hot off the press, so I will go back and edit later. It is also at the moment unfinished--only 3 of the 7 chapters have been written, because I am a madman and left it to the last day. But I will be working tirelessly to finish them in the next few hours and days!
> 
> So many thanks as always to [delta_altair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/delta_altair) and [thedarkpoet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedarkpoet) for your wonderful feedback, as well as to the entire Fair Game Effect server for all your wonderful support.

Branches whipped at Clover’s face, their leaves spattering him with moisture. A slow, cool drizzle specked his clothes, adding to the sudden damp sensation. Beneath him, a strange, gray beast was racing through the forest’s underbrush. It had four legs, a long neck from which sprouted a sleek, black mane, and its feet made a sharp ‘clopping’ sound as they struck the ground. Clover realized that he was sitting on a leather seat of some sort, and seemed to be rising and falling against it in rhythm with the beast’s gallop. Long leather straps stretched from the beast’s head to his hands. As soon as he began to think about it, however, he realized he had no idea what he was doing--and as the creature--a ‘horse’, he now realized he knew--weaved around a tree, he lost his balance and felt himself begin to slide off the leather seat, losing his grip on the--the reins--in his surprise. 

Clover tried to dive for the reins as they fell away, but only threw himself further from the saddle, and as the horse leaped over a small gully, he felt open air, and then he was on the ground, rolling and tumbling over stones, leaves, and branches. He came to rest against a small shrub, gasping for breath. He felt a dull ache in his side--probably from the fall. Hopefully it was only a bruise. 

Clover slowly pushed himself up off the cold, wet forest floor. His hands were grimy, coming away from the ground with bits of dead leaves and twigs stuck to them. He swore. His uniform may have been wrinkle-free, but that was no protection against mud. He looked down to brush himself off, however, and realized he wasn’t wearing his flight uniform. He wore soft gray trousers, made of a fabric that definitely was not wrinkle-free, and looked like it may have been hand-woven, the seams along the sides very slightly not straight. The ends of the trousers were tucked into tall black leather boots. And instead of his zippered vest, he wore a simple tan leather jacket, fastened down the front with buttons. Still no sleeves--so that at least made sense. The necklace hung from his neck, the green amulet tucked into the vest on its silver chain. And his red armband was still on his bicep, though this armband was tied in a knot. 

Where was he? Clover rose to his feet, and looked around. His horse--Kingfisher, he remembered--had been galloping at speed through the forest. From what? He turned and looked back in the direction from which he had come. A short ways away, a wide rock face rose from the forest floor, stretching up high above the treetops. The rock was a smooth, dark grey. Long, glittering seams of pink quartz wound sinuously through the rock, meeting in a large cluster near the ground.

The portal. He had been travelling through a portal, to find Qrow. But he had been in… a metal vessel of some sort. He recalled foggily memories of bright lights shooting in straight lines through a large, empty black space, enormous fires that blazed impossibly briefly. And at the center of the memories, Qrow.

Clover’s head swirled. Where was he? What were these memories? He… he knew Qrow. Qrow was his companion, his friend. They lived on a farm. He remembered that now. They had known each other for several years, and yes, he had been away. The memories came back now, and Clover heaved a sigh of relief. He must have hit his head when he fell from Kingfisher, or perhaps an errant tree branch had struck him and thrown him. Yes. All was clear now. He was returning from a year away, serving in the King’s Army. And he was coming home to his farm with Qrow. And he certainly knew how to ride a horse.

Clover picked his way through the damp underbrush of the forest, retracing his steps to where he had fallen, being careful to avoid slipping once more into the mud as he crossed the gully. The rain felt cool on his skin--the air was warm, and he had been exerting himself. The trees thinned not far ahead, and Clover pushed through a thick stand of bushes, emerging at the edge of a wide field. A small earthen path cut through the field not far from where he stood, and to his left, he saw Kingfisher, grazing on a patch of leafy weeds that had sprouted at the edges of the forest.

He walked up to Kingfisher, and extended a hand toward the horse’s neck. Kingfisher raised his head from his snack, and nickered gently to Clover. Clover pressed his hand to the horse’s neck, feeling the familiar, soft warmth.

“Hey, boy. Hey,” he said. “Sorry about that. I don’t know what came over me.” 

The horse’s large, brown eye gazed at him, and turned his head toward Clover, nudging him and nuzzling at his ear. Clover laughed and ran his other hand affectionately along Kingfisher’s head. 

“What do you say we head home?” Clover said. He reached back and collected the reins, carrying them over to the pommel of the saddle. He wrapped them around the horn, and checked the saddlebags--they appeared well-secured. Satisfied, he placed a foot in the stirrup, and vaulted easily up and into the saddle--a smooth, practiced motion. He had of course done this many times, since he was a boy on his mother’s farm. He nudged Kingfisher into motion with his heels, guiding him toward the earthen trail, and the direction of his farm.

\--

The rain had eased as Clover arrived at the farm, and golden rays of the setting sun’s light shown through the patchy remains of the clouds. Clover’s heart filled with warmth as his home came into view--a small, stone cottage with a thatched roof, nestled alongside several earthen storehouses. A pen for the chickens lay beside the storehouses, the coop just as he remembered it, a small wooden building at the far end. Several of the white birds milled calmly in the yard, clucking to themselves. Next to the coop stood the stables, and then there were the fields--doing well, he saw. A small, lush vegetable garden abutted the house, and beyond it a large field of potatoes, full of bushy, green plants. Beyond the potatoes, golden wheat fields stretched out to the distant tree-line. Qrow had done well in his absence.

The cottage door opened with a creak as Clover dismounted. Clover turned, and there was Qrow--striding towards him. A large apron hung from his neck, tied firmly around his waist, over a loose-fitting black linen shirt. Clover noted with satisfaction that Qrow appeared to be in good health--his cheeks were full of color, and even beneath the loose shirt, he could see firm, toned muscles.

“Welcome back, my friend,” Qrow said with a grin, as he threw his arms around Clover in a tight embrace.

“It’s good to see you, Qrow,” Clover replied with a laugh. He pulled back and clapped a hand on Qrow’s shoulder. “The farm looks wonderful--you’ve done an excellent job without me!”

Qrow’s cheeks colored slightly. “You know I couldn’t have let things run down while you were away--ever since you took me in those years ago, I have been indebted to you.” 

Clover remembered--Qrow had come knocking at his door one night, thin, pale, and hungry. His village had been decimated by the Grimm, and he needed a meal and a place to rest for the night. He had no money, but had offered a few days’ work in the fields as repayment. Clover had immediately urged him in, and fed him as much as his stores could allow--not allowing him to begin helping in the fields until he had regained some health. As they had worked together, they had found they got along well, and Clover had told Qrow that he was welcome to stay if he wished, and help Clover run the farm. Qrow had been reluctant, at first--he feared that his village’s demise was his own fault, that he had been cursed with misfortune. He refused to bring that curse to Clover’s farm. Clover had insisted, though--he had always had bountiful yields on this farm, so perhaps he had been blessed with good fortune--and at worst the two would balance each other. Qrow had finally agreed to stay, and to his surprise and delight, the farm had continued to produce well.

“Come now,” Clover said. “You have done your fair share--the farm is as much yours as mine these past few years. There is no debt.” 

“Well, you know we disagree on that,” Qrow said. He looked suddenly concerned. “And the war in the South? It went well?”

Clover furrowed his brow. He knew he had gone away to help in the war. One of the King’s men had come knocking a year ago, looking for recruits. Clover had felt that it would be an opportunity to make a name for himself as something more than a farmer, and that Qrow had learned enough of the farm’s operations to run things himself. But he found that he could not recall any details of the war. He remembered...the tempo of battle, the sounds of steel, and the frenzied fear that came with a close fight. He remembered loss, and victory. But he could not recall any specific battles, nor anyone he had fought alongside.

“I…I think so,” Clover replied. “To be honest, my memory is a little fuzzy. I fell from Kingfisher on the ride home, and may have hit my head. But I’m here, and I’m unharmed.”

Qrow nodded in relief. “And the Grimm? Any news from the journey home?”

Images flashed in his head--large, black beasts with red eyes, then strange black metal contraptions with red glowing orbs, transforming and shapeshifting as they hung against a black, starry sky, spitting fire from within. He shook himself. He had never encountered such monsters. The Grimm was invisible--a fog of wrongness that drifted over the land, unseen, but felt. Those who didn’t evade its influence entered a deep stupor, and then catatonia. Invariably, they would waste away and perish. Clover remembered that he had played games as a child that were meant to teach children to avoid the influences of the Grimm--and he even remembered a refrain from a nursery rhyme his mother had sung:

_ Run, run, run along; _

_ Your, your head is all wrong. _

_ Run, run, run in the rain; _

_ Rain, rain ends the pain. _

Nobody knew how to fight the Grimm--all that was known was that a sense of wrongness filled the brain when the Grimm was near, and many felt headaches as the Grimm began to spread over the land. Rain seemed to either drive the Grimm away or cause it to dissipate. Those who were smart, and aware, would turn back and flee as soon as they felt that discordant sensation, or would try only to travel when it rained.

“Well?” Qrow asked.

“I… not that I recall. I don’t think I stopped in many villages,” Clover responded, uncertainly. How could he not remember, either the war, or the Grimm?

Qrow shrugged. “Well, it has encroached more and more often here. Just last month, Robyn Hill’s husband was taken unawares in their field. She hasn’t been the same since she buried him--gone is that cheerful demeanor. I’ve been bringing her vegetables from our garden, and she has this icy stare a mile long. You’d think she was ready to fight the world.”

“That’s horrible,” Clover said. Robyn Hill had been an old friend of his--they had known each other as schoolchildren. To lose her husband must have been devastating. But there was no way to fight the Grimm. He understood her resolve, but where would she direct it, without an enemy to fight? He shook his head, sadly. 

“Well...anyway,” Qrow said, pulling away and beginning to walk toward the house. “We have avoided it here so far. Your timing is perfect, by the way. Supper is almost ready. I’m making stew, and sourdough. We should be ready to sit down by the time you have Kingfisher stabled. And then tomorrow, I was thinking of beginning the wheat harvest.”

Clover smiled, and began leading Kingfisher toward the stables. “Lucky me, then!” he called over his shoulder. “After so many months eating army rations, that sounds delightful. And it will be good to return to the fields.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Qrow and Clover work the farm fields, Clover's trouble remembering things begins to cause problems.

The bundle of potatoes landed in the cart with a  _ thump _ . Harbinger’s ears flicked backwards at the sound, before she returned to munching on the heap of dandelions in front of her. The leaves of the potato plants had the potential to sicken her, but Qrow and Clover needed her strength to pull the cart once it was full. Fortunately, dandelions were a favorite of the black draft horse, and she was easily distracted by them. The nearby meadows had provided a large crop, which Qrow had been cultivating specifically for this task. Most of the cart was consumed by the leafy greens, and would be gradually replaced by the potatoes as the harvest continued, and Harbinger ate her fill.

Clover straightened up, and wiped the sweat from his brow. They had almost two-thirds of the potato field left to harvest, and the late-summer sun was beginning to beat down heavily. Pulling potatoes was a difficult task, and his leather jerkin was beginning to be oppressively hot. He undid the buttoned front, letting the sides hang open, and sighed as the breeze began to cool his bare chest. He knelt once more opposite Qrow, and began digging out the next plant in the row.

Qrow looked up at him, as they worked, and sat back on his haunches. “Say,” he said, “that necklace is new.” He pointed to the silver chain that now hung openly, its green pendant dangling in the air.

“Oh, this?” Clover asked, touching the necklace. “I….” He found, suddenly, that he could not recall where he had gotten it. “I think I got it in the war.” He remembered an old man presenting it to him--along with two others. “I think as a farewell gift.”

Qrow raised his eyebrows. “A farewell gift? From a lady, perhaps?”

Clover shook his head. “I remember that part--an old man. It was meant to protect me.” He remembered as well, now, the other two necklaces in his pack. “I have two more in my pack; I completely forgot. There was one for you, and one for...for Raven…”

Qrow stared at him, wide-eyed, his red irises searching Clover’s face. He stood abruptly, a potato plant half-pulled at his feet, and began walking swiftly back towards the house.

Clover rose to his feet. “Hey, wait!” he shouted after Qrow, and began hurrying after him. “Wait, I’m sorry; I meant no offense!”

Qrow whirled around, his face set in anger. “Meant no offense? How can I believe that, Clover?” he demanded. “When you know very well that Raven left this world fifteen years ago? When you know how much her death still pains me, how I wish I could have done something better? Was this meant as a--a joke, or something? A clever little reminder that perhaps, had I only secured protection wards for us, she might not have been taken by the Grimm?”

“No, I--I didn’t--” Clover stammered.

Qrow shook his head. “You haven’t been the same since you returned. Maybe the war changed you. Maybe you realized you really don’t want me here. It’s fine; it’s your farm. I’ll pack my things.” He turned, and continued his march toward the cottage.

“WAIT!” Clover yelled after him, his voice breaking, as he pursued Qrow. “I--I…. Qrow, I forgot!” he wailed. “You know I have been forgetful these past few months, and I don’t know why! Do you think I like not being able to remember what I did this past year? The last thing I want is for my broken memory to cause you pain. I--maybe I’ve been cursed.”

Qrow stopped short of the cottage door. He turned, and saw Clover’s tear-stricken face.

“Please, Qrow,” Clover said, breathlessly. “I could not bear to live here on this farm without your company. You have been the best friend, the best companion I could wish for. I remember so little of my time away--but I do remember that being away from you, that was the worst hell I could have imagined.” That was true--Clover’s head was full of fog as he tried to remember where he had been, what he had done before returning home. But the pain of being apart stood out clearly in his mind. Returning to Qrow had been like breathing fresh air after a century trapped in a cave. 

Qrow’s anger broke, and he stepped forward and pulled Clover into a tight embrace. “I missed you too,” he murmured. “And I am glad you’ve returned.”

Clover sniffled, and pulled away. “You’re not leaving, then?” he asked.

Qrow shook his head. “No, if you want me here, then of course I’ll stay. It’s just--” he looked at Clover, his eyes full of worry. “You really have been struggling to remember things?”

Clover nodded morosely. “I thought at first perhaps I’d merely hit my head, and things would improve with time. But alas I don’t believe they are.”

“Well,” Qrow said, taking Clover’s hand in his own. “I’ll have to do my best to help you remember.”

“Thank you, Qrow,” Clover said, with another sniffle. “We should probably get back to Harbinger and the potatoes before she eats all the dandelions in that pile.”

Qrow chuckled. “Indeed. We have a lot of work ahead of us to get these potatoes in by sundown,” he replied.

\--

The heat of late summer faded, and the leaves of the trees began to turn the amber, bronze, and crimson hues of autumn. Qrow and Clover worked tirelessly tending the farm, finding renewed energy in each other’s company. However, as the crisp, biting taste of snow began to fill the air, Clover’s memory began failing more and more. He found himself forgetting basic things, like how to tack up Kingfisher, or a recipe he had prepared regularly for years. Sometimes he found himself standing in one of the fields, unsure of why he was there. He never forgot Qrow, but he worried that one day, perhaps he would. 

And his dreams had grown increasingly strange, and more frequent. VIsions of long, metal hallways, filled with an endless multitude of people in strange garbs. Flashes of bizarre scenes, crouching into a cramped metal box, yet being able to see beyond it, perhaps through some magic. Floating in an endless sky, with stars in every direction, as if the ground and sky had ceased to exist. 

And there was the necklace--a beautiful green crystal, engraved with a thousand fine silver lines, which penetrated the stone in strange, branching ways. He knew of no craftsman or craftswoman in the entire kingdom who could create something like that. But he knew it was important, and that he must wear it every day. 

One day, as the leaves began to fall from the trees, Clover decided that he needed to know more. That forest where he had been thrown from his horse--that stood out in his memory as one of the most bizarre events in the last year, and it was only since then that everything had ceased to make sense. If he were to find answers, he would have to return there.

He rose early the next morning, as the first light of day had just barely begun to grace the Eastern sky. He tiptoed to the kitchen quietly, so as not to wake Qrow as he passed his room. He knew that if he told Qrow, Qrow would try to stop him, or insist on coming with him--but he felt that this was something he needed to do alone. If this was a curse, and he had been cursed in that small patch of forest, then the last thing he wanted was for Qrow to be cursed as well. One of them needed to remember. He hastily scrawled a note to Qrow on a piece of parchment, urging him not to worry, and then carefully pushed open the cottage door, and headed out to the stables.

Kingfisher raised his head as Clover entered, and seeing Clover, rose with a groan from the pile of matted hay where he had been sleeping.

“Hey Kingfisher,” Clover whispered to him, reaching up to pet his neck. “We’re gonna go for an early ride, okay? Let me just get you tacked up. We gotta be quiet, though.” Kingfisher’s ears flicked, and he nickered gently as Clover turned to lift the saddle. Harbinger groaned sleepily from where she was lying in the next stall, but she stayed put. 

Clover focused and held his breath as he fastened the saddle and tacked up Kingfisher. When the saddle, bit, and reins had been secured, and he was satisfied he had done everything correctly, he breathed a heavy sigh of relief. He was set on doing this alone, but that also meant a greater chance of forgetting something important. He led Kingfisher out of the stables, and walked with him until he was sure they were far enough from the house that the sound of riding wouldn’t wake Qrow. Then he vaulted up onto the horse, and set out at an easy trot.

The sun had just begun to poke above the horizon as the small forest came into view. The dark gray cliff poked out above the trees, dwindling away to either side into a low ridge that snaked away toward the distant hills. Clover directed Kingfisher away from the road, and over to the bushes where he remembered emerging. He remembered that the terrain within the forest had not been completely suitable for horses, so he dismounted, and tethered Kingfisher to a small tree near the shrubs, so that Kingfisher could graze while he searched for answers within the forest.

As Clover pushed into the forest, he found he felt a nagging feeling in his head. He was forgetting something. Or had missed something. He pushed through the trees, and the feeling grew in intensity, until it was a dull throbbing behind his temples. Surely, this was where his problems came from. He had been cursed, and was approaching the origins of that curse, and that was the source of his discomfort. He felt sure of it. He pushed ahead, deeper and deeper into the forest.

Clover’s mind swirled, and his vision swam as he looked around himself. Where was he going? He could not recall. All he knew was that something was wrong, and he needed to fix it. His blood pounded in his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut, and sank to the ground, feeling relief at the cool moisture of the dewy forest floor. Maybe he was just tired. He had risen too early. It had not been a terribly distant ride; perhaps he could just take a nap here, and he would feel better when he awoke. Yes, that was okay, he thought, as he slid away into unconsciousness. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding Clover gone, Qrow gets increasingly distressed, and decides to do something about it.

Qrow woke at his usual time, as rays of early-morning sunlight pierced through his window’s thin curtains and played across his face. He stretched, groaned, and rubbed his eyes, before rolling out of bed and shrugging on his clothes. He paused, and listened. There were no sounds coming from the kitchen, which he thought was odd. Usually Clover rose before he did, and started on breakfast and coffee while Qrow slept. Maybe Clover had gone out to get an early start on the day’s chores--or was feeling unwell, and still asleep. 

Qrow padded out to the kitchen. There was no Clover, and no breakfast. There was, however, a piece of parchment resting on the table. Qrow walked over, and began reading.

Clover had left earlier that morning, supposedly to find out why he was struggling with his memories. He hadn’t wanted to wake Qrow, because he wanted to do this himself, and Qrow deserved to sleep. He urged Qrow not to worry, as he would return before long, and he apologized for leaving the morning chores for Qrow to do alone.

Qrow sat heavily in a chair. He didn’t mind doing the chores alone; he had done them alone for a whole year when Clover had been gone. But he had also spent that year doing those chores filled with dread, waiting for a messenger to come knocking from the King’s Army to tell him that Clover had been killed. Every night had been filled with nightmares as he grappled with that possibility. He hadn’t wanted Clover to leave at all--but Clover had seemed so set on serving his country and the King, that Qrow hadn’t had the heart to tell him. And he knew that his feelings didn’t really matter; it wasn’t his place to tell Clover what to do with his life. He was still mystified that Clover kept him around at all.

Clover said in the note that he wouldn’t be gone long--but what if something happened to him? Or what if the note was simply to keep Qrow from worrying enough to follow him, and Clover had finally had enough of Qrow--had decided he preferred life in the Army, and was headed back to that life, to a life without Qrow?

Qrow trembled in his seat, as a chill crept over him. He was alone. He was alone, again, after he thought they had been reunited. When he had heard Kingfisher’s hooves clopping down the path, his heart had never sung so loud as it sang that day. Clover was perfect, and Qrow had agonized every day since Clover’s return over whether or not to tell him how he felt. After all--there was no reason to believe Clover felt the same way about him. They were friends, nothing more. When Clover had confessed to him in the field how much he had missed him, his heart and his hopes had soared, but he had dared not act, beyond pulling Clover into a hug. Since then, he had simply tried to relish their time together.

But now Clover was gone. This was more of Qrow’s misfortune, that horrible curse that had taken from him everyone he lived. Qrow buried his head in his hands and wept, his fingers tugging at his hair.

Eventually, Qrow’s breathing slowed, and he thought about what to do next. The morning chores had to be done. He still had to feed himself, and the farm had to be run for that to happen. And maybe Clover really was only out for a short time, and would return later in the day. He shouldn’t jump to conclusions in the meantime. Qrow rose from the table to begin making breakfast and coffee. He would start his day, as normal. He would do the morning chores. And then, Qrow resolved, if Clover had still not returned by the evening, then he would go out after him.

Clover had to know, and if necessary he would track him down and tell him that he loved him. Maybe then he would decide to stay.

\--

The sun rose high in the sky, Qrow finished the morning chores and began the afternoon chores, and then the sun sank low in the sky. Qrow nibbled on a meager supper, as the knot in his stomach twisted ever-tighter. Finally, he could bear it no more. Clover had not returned. 

Qrow pushed his chair back from the dinner table and grabbed a black woolen cloak to keep out the cold. He swiftly marched out the door and out the stables, where Harbinger stood placidly in her stall. 

“Come on girl, we’re going to find our boy. He’s not going to get away from us this time,” Qrow said to the horse. Her ears twitched in response, as Qrow began preparing the saddle. 

A few moments later, Harbinger was ready, and Qrow leapt up into the saddle, and with a swift kick, they were off. Harbinger cantered out onto the road, and Qrow urged her into a swift gallop. His eyes scanned the road ahead for any sign of Clover, as the dirt road flew past beneath Harbinger’s hooves. 

They had ridden perhaps two, three miles when Qrow saw it. Kingfisher, alone, lying on the ground next to a small patch of forest. Far beyond the trees, a ridge rose into a rock outcropping. Qrow urgently slowed Harbinger to a walk, and urged the horse off the road, and up the hill toward the trees. Her breath came heavily and slowly, and Qrow felt her sweat begin to wick through his trousers. He felt bad--she was a draft horse, not a racehorse, and this was more intense riding than she had done in years. But he had to find Clover. Kingfisher whinnied as they approached, and climbed to his feet as Harbinger nickered in response. Qrow dismounted quickly as they reached Kingfisher, and tethered Harbinger to the same tree to which Clover had apparently tethered Kingfisher. Clover’s poor horse seemed anxious--his eyes were wide, showing the white ring around the large, brown irises, and he snorted as his ears flicked back and forth.

“What’s wrong, boy?” Qrow asked. “Where’s Clover?” He reached up to calm Kingfisher, but Kingfisher pulled his head away.

Clover was in trouble. That was the only explanation. Qrow looked around, and saw that some branches on a nearby shrub had been broken, and some of the taller weeds in front of it had been trampled.

As Qrow pushed into the forest, he sensed that everything about the situation was wrong, a pulsing feeling of wrongness that threatened to crowd out his thoughts.

_ The Grimm _ .

Fear rose in Qrow’s heart, and he pushed further into the forest. He focused on his breathing, trying to keep it slow and measured. The oppressive feeling grew stronger and stronger, but Qrow concentrated, sensed the invading wisps of oblivion pushing at his mind. He fought, and pushed them away. Not today. He would not succumb. Not when Clover was in trouble.

Qrow pushed deeper and deeper, following the trail of broken twigs and plants that Clover had carved earlier that day, fighting all the while to keep the Grimm out of his mind. Not today. Not today. Not today.

Finally, he climbed over a fallen tree, and there he was--Clover, lying on his side. Qrow rushed forward, and knelt at Clover’s side. Clover’s eyes were only half-open, and his skin was clammy.

“Clover?” he said, giving him a shake. Clover didn’t move, however--not even a twitch of the eyes. Qrow felt for a pulse--it was there, but weak. The man’s breathing was shallow, as well. He slipped an arm under Clover, and tried to lift him off the forest floor. 

With a grunt, he pulled himself to his feet, Clover’s arm thrown over Qrow’s neck. He took a few fumbling steps, then sank to the ground, nearly dropping Clover in the process. The other man was too muscular, and in his unresponsive state, too heavy to carry out of the forest. The Grimm renewed its efforts, and Qrow screamed with exertion as he pushed it back once more. He needed help.

“Harbinger!” he cried. He jammed his fingers into his mouth and whistled for her, a sharp, shrill, piercing cry. Moments later, he heard her large form crashing through the underbrush, and then she was there, the small tree dangling from her reins, its exposed roots dragging behind on the ground. Kingfisher trotted a short ways behind her, tied as he still was to that same tree.

“Come, I need help,” he said to Harbinger, attempting to lift Clover once more. Harbinger stepped forward, and lowered herself to the ground next to Qrow. Qrow heaved Clover onto her saddle, and untied the reins from the uprooted tree. He tucked Clover’s hands around the horn of the saddle, and looped the reins around them several times, then tied them off. He had to hope this would help keep Clover in the saddle. 

“Hup!” he said to Harbinger, and rose with her, both hands on Clover to keep him steady as the horse climbed to her feet. “Okay,” he said, “out of here, we have to get out of here.”

He grabbed Kingfisher’s reins, and began leading both horses back the way they came, toward the road. The Grimm continued to assault his brain, but he fought back--he had Clover now, and no force in the world was strong enough to stop him now. Clover needed his help.

Finally, they emerged into the meadow by the road, and the horrible mental pressure of the Grimm was gone. Qrow breathed a sigh of relief. He had Clover. They had escaped. They could go home now. He looked up at Clover’s form, and remembered how cold and clammy Clover’s skin had been. He tore off his cloak, and draped it over Clover, then began the long walk home, both horses in tow.

\--

Night fell well before they reached home, and the starry expanse twinkled through gaps in the patchy clouds. Qrow shivered--the seasons were changing once more, and the nights were growing cold. But he dared not take the cloak from Clover--he could shiver a bit to save Clover’s life.

They reached the house, and Qrow untied the reins holding Clover’s hands to the saddle’s horn. He pulled the cloak off of Clover, and carefully transferred Clover’s arm and shoulder to his neck, and pulled him down from Harbinger. He panted and grunted as heaved Clover across the grass to the cottage door, and kicked it open. A short distance later, and he had managed to drag Clover to Qrow’s bedroom, where he laid him out onto the bed. He pulled the blankets out from beneath Clover’s limp form, and tucked them over him, to keep out the cold. He would keep Clover here--his room had a chair next to the bed, in which Qrow sometimes sat and read on quiet days when the farm needed less work. He could sleep in that chair, and that way not have to leave Clover’s side except when necessary. That way he would be there when Clover awoke--and if the Grimm tried to follow, to claim its quarry, he would be there to fight it off once more. 

Now that Clover was home, and in bed, an immense fatigue overtook Qrow. He had fought so hard to bring Qrow home, and now all he wanted to do was sleep. But he knew he wasn’t done quite yet. 

He hauled himself back outside, led Harbinger and Kingfisher to their stalls in the stable, and filled their feed bags. Then he went back into the house, collected the blankets from Clover’s bedroom, and collapsed into the chair beside his own bed. He looked over at Clover’s still form, as he nestled into the blankets. Clover was still in trouble--but this was a start. As he watched Clover’s slow breathing, his eyelids drooped, and he drifted off to sleep.

\--

A week passed, and Clover’s condition did not improve. Qrow prepared porridge, soups, and any other nutritious gruel he could think of, feeding them carefully and methodically to Clover, forcing the spoon into his mouth and massaging his throat until the reflex to swallow kicked in. As it became necessary, he hauled Clover to the washing tub, carefully removed his clothes, bathed him, dressed him once more, and hauled him back into bed. He neglected all of the farm’s chores as he cared for Clover, save to feed the animals. But after a week, Clover was still unresponsive, still clammy, still taking only shallow breaths. 

The morning of the eighth day, Qrow woke to the sharp tang of frost in the air. When he went outside, the grass crunched beneath his feat, each blade coated in a layer of white. He sighed. He wanted nothing more than to continue caring for Clover. But he wasn’t improving, and winter was on its way. The winter wheat still needed to be planted, before the ground froze and it became impossible. He needed help--Clover needed help. Help that Qrow could not provide on his own.

But he knew someone who perhaps could.

After feeding Clover his breakfast, he packed some provisions for the journey. He thought for a moment about what else he might need. Remembering the peculiar green amulet that hung around Clover’s neck, and Clover’s comment that there had been two more in his pack, he pulled out Clover’s pack from beneath his bed. Sure enough, at the bottom of the pack, were two more silver necklaces, each with an identical translucent green stone at the center. Qrow gazed at the amulet in wonder--fine silver wires were etched into the crystalline rock, and seemed in fact to permeate the entire amulet. And to his surprise, it was warm to the touch--despite the chill in the air. Perhaps this could yield some answers. He left the second necklace, that had supposedly been meant for Raven, in Clover’s pack, and carefully placed the one meant for him into his own pack. 

He gave Clover a quick kiss on the forehead, and went out to the stables to tack up Harbinger, then rode the short distance down the road to Robyn Hill’s farm.

She greeted him coolly, but thanked him for all the vegetables he and Clover had delivered over the past few months. He told her then of Clover’s condition, and begged her to visit the farm a few times per day over the next few days to care for Clover in his absence--he was off to seek help. Robyn looked into his eyes, and for the first time since her husband had been lost to the Grimm, he felt warmth in her gaze.

“Of course I’ll help,” she said. “I would have done anything to save my husband if I thought there was the slightest chance. I’ll help you, and I hope you find the help you’re looking for. But I’ll warn you--people don’t return when the Grimm takes them.”

“Clover will,” Qrow replied. “Clover will.”

Robyn shook her head sadly, and waved him off, as he set off on the journey to Mantle. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! The story will continue _very soon_ , as I am racing to finish this fic! Just hang in there for a few more chapters :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qrow seeks help from the one person with enough arcane knowledge to save Clover--Sister Calavera.

If anybody could help Clover, it was Sister Calavera. That was what Qrow told himself, as he dismounted from Harbinger and tethered her outside the convent. Sister Calavera was the only person he could think of who knew enough about the Grimm. And people said that she possessed magic--if anything could save Clover, surely it would be magical. 

Qrow walked around to the side of the convent. You didn’t enter through the convent’s front door if you wanted to see Sister Calavera. Sister Calavera didn’t live with the other nuns; she didn’t participate in the normal religious goings-on of the convent. Her residence here was more a mark of the respect the community had for her than any reflection of her own spiritual leanings. 

A small, nondescript house sat a ways back from the road, nestled up against the wall of the convent. The late-afternoon sun had sunk low in the sky, and the high walls of the convent cast a deep shadow over the house. A small wisp of smoke curled lazily from the house’s chimney, turning a bright blue when it rose into the sunlight. Qrow took a deep breath, and set off down the path to the house’s door.

As he raised his hand to knock, the door swung open. He peered inside, trying to see who had knocked--but saw no one.

“Come in, and close the door!” an old woman’s voice called, from one of the rooms further back in the house. “You’ll let all the cold air in!”

Qrow quickly stepped inside, and cautiously closed the door, being careful not to let it slam.

“I’ve been expecting you, Qrow Branwen,” the voice continued. “I’m in the kitchen!”

Bewildered, Qrow walked cautiously into the house, peering through the dark hallways. Not a single candle was lit. 

“Do I need to draw you a map?” the voice cried, irritably. “Through the hall, second door on the left!”

Qrow picked up the pace, and followed her directions. He stepped through the door, and into a small kitchen. A wood-burning stove stood at one end, a small log crackling gently inside. And next to the stove, perched on a very tall stool, sat Sister Maria Calavera.

She was an exceedingly diminutive old woman, not much more than half the height of the stool. Qrow wondered how she had climbed up to sit on it, then chided himself for even thinking such a question. She wore a deep blue smock that stretched down to her ankles, and a black strip of cloth over her eyes.

Her eyes--Sister Maria Calavera was blind. Nobody knew how she had been blinded--some said her eyes were gouged out by a demon, others said she had simply grown ill. Yet others speculated that she had traded them to the Devil in her youth in exchange for magical powers. Qrow wasn’t sure what to believe, and he certainly wasn’t about to ask. To cover up whatever lay beneath, she wore a thick black blindfold--and over that strip of cloth, right where her eyes should have been, burned two bright blue lights. Their shapes constantly shifted and reformed as he watched, but he got the distinct impression that those lights _were_ her eyes. 

“How--how did you know I was coming?” Qrow stammered. “And how do you know who I am?”

Sister Calavera peered down at him from her stool, and then shook her head. “The better questions,” she said, “are what took you so long, and what kind of magical seer would I be if I couldn’t figure out basic stuff like people’s names? You think I can read name-tags? I’m blind!”

“But--but….” Qrow began.

“But what?” Sister Calavera interrupted. “It doesn’t matter. Help me down. Would you like some tea?”

Qrow shook his head, as he tried to process the social whirlwind that was Sister Maria Calavera. Finally, he shook himself. He was here for a reason. “Sister Calavera,” he began.

“--Call me Maria,” she interjected.

“--Maria,” he corrected himself. “I came here seeking your help. My friend, and partner in my farm, he… he was taken unawares by the Grimm a week ago. I found him in the woods. I have been caring for him ever since, feeding him and making sure he drinks, but he hasn’t been getting better.”

Maria Calavera looked up at him from the teabag she was dunking in her tea. “How far gone is he?” she asked.

“His skin is cold and clammy,” Qrow began, “his breathing is shallow, he seems nearly asleep but is neither awake nor sleeping, and his eyes don’t move. But he has a pulse, and he does breathe.”

Maria shook her head sadly. “Your boyfriend’s dead, dear,” she said. “I’m sorry. At that stage, there’s nothing that can be done. Best you can do now is dig a grave, lower him in, and cut his throat--give him a quick, merciful end instead of letting him starve to death.”

Qrow looked at Maria with shock. “I’m not going to bury Clover!” he insisted. “I refuse! This is different; he’s not like most people who get taken--I was able to get to him and bring him back, even though he was still surrounded by the Grimm! I was able to fight it off!”

“Hah!” Maria laughed. “What’s so special about you?”

Qrow stammered, helplessly. “Maybe it’s--maybe it’s a weaker form! Come on, there must be something you can do! Here, look--” he plunged a hand into his pack, found the necklace, and pulled it out. The stone still held its warmth--it felt unchanged since he had held it last. “He wears one of these!” He held it out for Sister Maria to inspect. “A--a protection ward, or something.”

Maria turned slowly, and peered at the green amulet in Qrow’s outstretched hand. The blue lights blazing across her blindfold narrowed, and she looked up at him.

“Well,” she said quietly, “now we’re talking. May I?” She held out her hand.

Qrow went to place the amulet in her hand, but instead of settling into her palm, it hovered gently in the air, just above her hand. Arcs of violet light played across her fingers, then began tracing out geometric figures on her palm--first a triangle, then a square, then a pentagon, and so on, each subsequent shape intersecting and overlapping the others, until the violet lines had reached a dizzying complexity that hurt to look at. The shapes rose from her palm until they encompassed the amulet, whereupon they began rotating around the center of the amulet. Qrow tried to watch, but as they spun faster and faster, watching began to feel like his eyes were trying to turn outside out. Reluctantly, he averted his eyes, and allowed Maria to work.

A few moments later, she shoved the amulet back into his hand. “Thought so. Come on, we’re wasting time,” she said, as she hurried out of the kitchen and toward the front of the house. 

“You’ll--you’ll help?” Qrow asked, as he hurried after her.

“You said your boyfriend wore one of those?” she called over her shoulder, as she rummaged through a closet. “My staff, my staff, where did I put my staff….” she muttered, throwing various odds and ends over his shoulder as she dug.

“My--my--yes, Clover had one around his neck!” Qrow replied. “He came back from the war with it. He brought two more, one for me and one for...for my dead sister. The one I showed you is one of those two.”

“Aha!” Maria cried triumphantly, brandishing a gnarled staff, topped with a polished human skull. Small turquoise stones were set in the eyes, and deep-red garnets dotted its teeth. Qrow shivered at the sight. “Oh, grow up,” she said. “Yes, I’ll help. It’s not every day you see something like that necklace. I need to see the other one. And then, young man, I want a proper look at the both of you.”

She turned, and bustled out the door, marching swiftly down the path towards Harbinger.

“Nice horse!” she shouted over her shoulder, as Qrow hurried out the door and followed her. For an old woman, she was surprisingly sprightly, and when she reached Harbinger, she took hold of a saddle strap, and tossed herself up into the saddle as if it were nothing.

Qrow stood and stared for a second, until he remembered that this was Sister Maria Calavera, the most magical person he knew of--it was foolish to be surprised by anything she did.

“Come on,” she yelled, “We are losing time! If you want your boyfriend back, get your ass on the horse and let’s go!”

“Yes, ma’am!” he said, and pulled himself up in the saddle behind her. She handed him the reins, and he spurred Harbinger into motion.

“Don’t call me ma’am,” Maria said.

“Oh, right. Sorry, Sister,” Qrow corrected himself.

“I told you. Call me Maria.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back at the cottage, Maria works furiously, and Qrow begins to learn the truth.

Maria leapt down from Harbinger before the horse had even stopped, and sprinted to the cottage door. Qrow dismounted more carefully--he knew his curse well enough not to tempt fate--and quickly led Harbinger to the stables. Once the horse was properly stabled, he hurried back to the cottage. Inside, Robyn Hill sat at the kitchen table, clutching a steaming mug of coffee. She looked up at Qrow as he entered.

“She’s in the room with Clover,” she said. “Qrow, I don’t know what you’re up to, or what crazy idea you’ve had about bringing back Clover. But when this is over, I want to know what exactly you said to Maria Calavera to make her this upset.”

“Yeah, sure,” Qrow said absentmindedly, shrugging off his cloak and throwing it over a chair.

“No, Qrow!” Robyn snapped. “Look at me--I’m serious. Sister Calavera is serious business. She doesn’t help just anybody, and she certainly doesn’t barge through locked front doors like they don’t exist. If you’ve done something to put us all in danger…”

Qrow turned to her, halfway to the bedroom. “Yes, Robyn, I’ll tell you everything later. I promise, we haven’t done anything to endanger you. Maria is--she’s intrigued by something she saw. I think she can help Clover.”

Robyn rose from her seat, drained the rest of her coffee, and set the mug down heavily. “Well, whatever it is, I’m not sticking around to see this place turned into a magical hellscape by her spells. Good luck; I’ll be on my farm.” She pulled her cloak from her chair and headed for the door, as Qrow hurried down the hall to his room.

Inside the room, Maria was frantically etching symbols into the floorboards with the end of her staff. She was muttering quietly to herself, though Qrow couldn’t make out the words.

Not wanting to intrude on whatever arcane work she was doing, Qrow slipped in quietly and crouched against a wall. Maria finished whatever she was carving, and whirled on Qrow.

“Good. You. Come here,” she ordered. Her hand shot out and grabbed Qrow’s wrist, and she hauled him over to the bed with surprising strength. “There--his necklace!” she said, pointing.

“I don’t understand--what about it?” Qrow asked.

“Feel it!” Maria snapped. Qrow reached down and felt the translucent green amulet that hung around Clover’s neck. The stone was cool to the touch--the same temperature as the cool stones of the cottage walls.

“It’s cold,” he said with surprise.

“It’s cold!” Maria yelled. “The stone is cold! It’s not supposed to be cold!”

“What do you mean?” Qrow asked. “It’s--I thought--you don’t think it’s strange that the other one was warm?”

If Maria Calavera had eyeballs, Qrow would have sworn they rolled.

“Those stones,” she said, jabbing the skull end of her staff into Qrow’s chest, “are no ordinary stones.” Qrow backed away to the wall, but she advanced, prodding at him with the staff. “Nor are they protection wards. Ugh! You stupid boy! That’s no two-pence luck charm from the market; it won’t even protect a gnat from the Grimm! Because that’s not what it’s for!”

“But--but Clover said it was for protection…” Qrow stammered.

“Yes, but not the Grimm! What _that thing_ \--” she pointed the staff back at the amulet resting on Clover’s chest-- ”protects against isn’t a part of this world!” 

When Qrow’s expression only grew more confused, Maria gave an exasperated groan. “Ugh, you two really are idiots. How did _you_ end up with this power?” she asked, as she spun back to the bed and paced over to the symbols etched in the floor. “Wait--” she said, turning back to Qrow. “Put it on.”

“Clover’s necklace?” Qrow asked.

“No!” she shouted, violet electricity flashing from her staff. “Yours! Your necklace! Clover brought back 3 stones, one for himself, one for you, and one for your sister! Put yours on!”

Qrow frantically hurried back to the kitchen, where he had left his pack. He pulled out the necklace, and rushed back to the bedroom, where he slipped it over his head. He felt no different, and looked at Maria in confusion. What did she want from him?

Maria said nothing, however, but rammed her staff into his gut, knocking the wind out of him. Her hand flew across the staff, tracing arcane symbols in the air over the wood. Violet shapes and figures flew from the staff and into his body, swirling around his limbs. Qrow’s heart raced--he had done something to anger the witch, and now she would kill him, and there would be no saving Clover. Nothing happened, however, except that Maria continued to stare at him with a penetrating gaze.

Finally, she withdrew the staff, and the flurry of purple shapes dissipated. She sighed heavily. “Of course,” she said. She shook her head. “You are not from this world,” she said, softly. 

Qrow goggled at her. That was ridiculous. The old woman had gone insane, mad with power. “Uh--yes I am!” he protested. “I grew up here, in a village not far away! I remember that!”

Maria laughed at him, a piercing cackle. “You remember!” she cried. “Wonderful! I’ll just go home then. Except I won’t, because you don’t. Trust me, my boy, memories are flimsy! Fragile! Easily replaced! Trust me, you’re talking to an old woman! My memories fail me all the time!”

“But if I’m not from here, then--”

“Then where are you from, eh? Exactly! _Now_ he gets it!” Maria crowed. “You’re from somewhere that can make _these!_ ” she said, pointing to the warm amulet that now rested on his chest. “You both are! That’s not magic from this world. It’s magical, all right! Powerful stuff, too! I wish I could get my hands on it! That thing creates its own magic, and it wraps our magic around itself. And most importantly,” she said, “it creates its own time!”

“What do you mean, it creates its own time?” Qrow asked. A million questions swirled in his head--if they weren’t from here, but neither was from here…when had they arrived? How much of their past together was fabricated? He had always felt greater kinship with Clover than with anyone else; it was part of what had led him to fall in love with the man. Was that all a trick? Did he only feel close to Clover because they had travelled together, and so were the only two people in this world who shared that?

“I mean, time in our world flows around it, not through it! Just like our world’s magic flows around it, not through it! The necklace exists outside of time! And you idiots,” she cried, pointing to Qrow, and then to Clover, “broke one of them! All of eternity, contained in a single stone, small enough to fit in your hand, and you _broke it!_ If someone, I assume some goddamn prophet and not either of you, hadn’t had the foresight to send backups, there would be no chance of you ever getting home, and very little chance of bringing _him_ back from the Grimm!”

Qrow stammered, his eyes wide. All of eternity? What--what was he supposed to do with that knowledge? “So--so we can help him, then?” he asked.

“Oh, God yes, we can help him,” Maria said, nodding furiously, returning to the etched symbols. She jammed her staff into the symbols one by one, and they began to glow. “I’m going to stabilize him first--but you’ll need to go find him.”

Qrow was about to ask what in the world that meant when Clover was right here in bed, but Maria’s hand shot out behind her and waved him quiet.

“What I mean by ‘find him’, is you have to go beyond this realm. You have magic in you. Both you do. Neither of you has our world’s magic. But you do have your world’s magic. And the stone was supposed to keep that magic from mixing with ours and getting lost. Honestly, it’s a miracle _you_ survived this long.”

Qrow wanted to protest that he didn’t have a magical bone in his body, but at this point so much of what he knew was apparently wrong, that he decided it was better to let Maria continue.

“There,” she said, as the final sigil came to life. The bed was bathed in an eerie violet glow, as a horseshoe of arcane symbols glowed on the floor. As Qrow watched, they seemed to shift and flow across the floor within the shape of the horseshoe. “That will protect him for the time being, and keep him anchored here.” She set the staff down, and sighed.

“And what about me?” Qrow asked. “I don’t know how to leave this--this realm. And once I do--how do I find him?” 

Maria nodded at him. “I can help you get there. We’ll need ingredients. You have them in your kitchen. And then we’ll need a candle. Once you’re in, you’ll need to find the magic that matches your own. I can’t help you more than that, except that you’ll probably know it when you see it. But Qrow,” she said, looking him sternly in the eye, “if you want to know the truth, you _must_ find Clover.” 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria races to prepare to send Qrow into the unknown, where he will have to chart his own course and find Clover--and bring him back.

Maria worked quickly. She rummaged through the grains and root vegetables piled in the storehouses, tossing anything useful into her basket. She rifled through the various dried spices hanging from the wall in the kitchen, and looked through the racks of pickled vegetables and fruit preserves.

“You said he came back from the war with the amulets?” Maria asked, as she unscrewed the lid of a jar of pickled turnips. 

“Yeah, he had one on his neck, and the other two in his pack,” Qrow replied. He was leaning against the wall of the kitchen, watching Maria ransack their pantry with concern. He was willing to do anything to get Clover back--but the way she was going through things, they would lose a lot of their stores for the winter. “I didn’t notice until weeks later, when we were in the field harvesting potatoes, and--”

“Doesn’t matter,” Maria interrupted, waving a hand at him irritably. She gave the turnips a sniff, then dumped them into the basket. “That’s when he came here, then. Did he have anything else with him? A cart, perhaps? Or a wagon?”

Qrow shook his head. “No, I met him on the road. It was just him, his horse, and his travel pack.”

Maria snapped her fingers. “The horse. Of course. You have a horse too. To the stables!” She said with a flourish, and swept out through the door. Qrow hurried after her, only just barely managing to catch up enough to open the stable door for her.

Harbinger and Kingfisher both stood in their stalls, eyeing Maria nervously. She raised a clenched fist, which briefly glowed purple, and the horses relaxed. Maria set the basket on the ground, and slipped a small knife from one of her dress’s pockets. 

“Hey, wait--” Qrow said, eyeing the knife.

“Relax,” she murmured, as she reached up to Kingfisher’s neck. She pulled a strand of his mane away from the horse’s neck, and deftly cut a length of hair with the knife. “See?” she said. “Nothing to worry about.” She turned and placed the cut hair in the basket, then turned to Harbinger, and cut a similar length of hair from her mane.

“Good,” she said with a satisfied sigh, as she picked up the basket. “We have everything. You go find a candle, and I’ll get to work in the kitchen.”

“What is all this for?” Qrow asked, as they walked back to the cottage.

“The candle is to light your way back from wherever you go,” she said. “And the rest is to prepare the candle, and to prepare you.”

Maria went straight to the kitchen, while Qrow retrieved a candle from Clover’s old bedroom--a tall, white pillar, nestled into a small pewter holder. When he returned to the kitchen, Maria had transferred the ingredients from the basket into a large bowl, and was busily grinding them with their largest pestle. Faint wisps of violet smoke hung around her hand and trailed down the pestle, where they trailed off into the mixture. Before long, the bowl held a thick, black liquid. The tarry substance bubbled slowly, giving off a sharp, acrid smell as the bubbles popped. 

“Good,” Maria sighed, setting down the pestle. “I haven’t had an arm workout like that in months! Now--the candle!” She reached a hand out to Qrow, and he passed her the candle. She looked at the pewter candle holder, shrugged, and tore the candle from its base, tossing the base back to Qrow. As Qrow fumbled with the candle holder, she turned the white candle over, and slowly dipped the wick into the black tar.

As Maria murmured under her breath, tar began to wick up into the candle, deep red branching veins working their way through the white wax. The veins forked and twisted and merged, growing thicker and thicker, until the entire candle had turned a deep, blood red, with a black wick. Maria turned to Qrow, and he could have sworn that her eyes were burning brighter than before.

“It’s ready,” she said. “You should be next to Clover for this.”

Qrow nodded, his pulse quickening as he turned to walk back to the bedroom. A knot had formed in his stomach--was he really about to let this sorceress send him out of this world? Presumably to the same place the Grimm had taken Clover’s soul? What was the Grimm anyway? Qrow knew that some of the priests talked about the Grimm as punishment for the idle, the wicked, and the unfaithful. That had always seemed absurd to him--but what if they were right, and Maria was about to send him to hell? The bubbling black tar certainly seemed of a piece with a pit of eternal damnation. 

But wherever she was sending him, that was where Clover was. And Clover needed his help. Even if Qrow was cursed with misfortune, he had had the good fortune to meet Clover, and now Clover needed him. Qrow took a deep breath as he entered the bedroom, and sat on the bed, next to Clover’s limp form. He would fight whatever hellbeasts lay waiting for him.

“You’ll need this,” Maria said, handing him the candle. He took it and held it in his lap, then an idea dawned on him.

“Matches,” he said, beginning to stand from the bed. “We didn’t collect matches. I can go grab--” 

“ _Sit._ ” Maria commanded, placing a firm hand on his shoulder, pressing him back down to the bed. “You won’t need matches. Don’t worry--you’ll understand soon enough.”

_She really was sending him to Hell._

Maria stood before him, as he trembled, and despite her diminutive stature, he felt somehow that she was towering over him, herself a figure of immense power, a mountain that had weathered a billion storms. Her magical blue eyes blazed, seeming almost to lick at the blindfold, as if they were flames. Violet energy coursed down her arm, as she dipped a finger into the bowl of acrid liquid.

She held up a tar-covered finger. “This will hurt,” she said, and pressed her finger to Qrow’s temple, and dragged it along his skin.

The thick substance burned, bubbling and hissing as it met his skin, and Qrow screamed. He wanted to run, to escape the tortures that surely awaited him, but he was frozen in place, unable to move any of his limbs. The torture continued, as Maria continued to draw on his forehead, tracing out what Qrow could only assume was some arcane symbol. Finally, after what felt like an agonizing eternity, the symbol was complete. The symbol flashed into incandescent brilliance, and searing white pain flooded Qrow’s body, and he passed out.

\--

Qrow opened his eyes. All around him, he saw nothing but white--no shapes, features, indications of depth. Just an unending, infinite white. He looked down at himself--he appeared whole, wearing the same clothes as before. The amulet hung on his chest, and he held the red candle in his hand. But curiously, he seemed not to cast a shadow. He supposed that made sense if light came from every direction. He appeared to be resting on some surface--when he reached his hand down to his feet, it came to a halt at the same level. 

Qrow cautiously took a step forward. Whatever the surface was, it held his weight. He took several more cautious steps, until he was satisfied that the surface was solid. He looked around once more. He could not tell if he was seeing into the distance, and there was simply nothing to see for as far as one could see, or if instead there was some white fog or mist, and everything was simply obscured. 

Clover was here somewhere. That was why Maria had sent him here. He remembered the searing pain of the sigil she had inscribed in his forehead, and he reached up to feel it--there was no trace of the black tar, but he could feel the outline of the symbol, a smooth series of ridges that spread across his forehead. To his relief, the skin was smooth, and appeared uninjured, save for the raised symbol that was now apparently part of his face. That was a small mercy, at least. 

If Clover was here, and his vision was simply obscured by some white fog, then all he had to do was begin walking, and eventually something would have to emerge from the fog. There was no way of knowing in which direction to walk, however. Qrow stood in place, turning to look in each direction. He tried to feel if any direction called to him. None did, however, so Qrow picked a direction at random, and began walking.

Qrow walked, and walked. He walked for miles, for what felt like days, perhaps even weeks. Nothing changed--he had no way of knowing how much time had passed, or how far he had walked, or if he was even moving at all. The only thing he could feel was the movement of his feet, and the resistance they met from the surface with every step. 

Qrow stopped walking, and gazed out into the white nothingness. He was lost. He had no idea what to do, or how to find Clover in this vast expanse. Perhaps he had not walked far enough. Perhaps he had gone in the wrong direction. Or perhaps Clover was no longer here, and he was too late. 

Qrow sat heavily. That would be unsurprising--it was just like his cursed misfortune for Clover to be lost forever just as Qrow came to his aid. He could imagine Maria noticing Clover’s departure just as Qrow had slipped away, and then cursing his slow incompetence. Qrow hung his head, and gazed at the green amulet that hung on his chest. He took it in one hand and stared at it, his eyes tracing the intricate silver lines. It still gave off a soft warmth, even here. 

He remembered when he had first seen the necklace--that morning in the potato fields, when Clover had undone his jerkin. Qrow had looked up, so enraptured by the toned muscles on display, and then intrigued by the striking jewelry piece. And then when Clover had said one of them was for Raven--Qrow had been so shocked, so upset. He had been so ready to believe that Clover didn’t care for him. But Clover had invited him to stay, again and again. He should have taken Clover at his word, and been happy with that. Maybe then, Clover wouldn’t have gone off to war, and none of this would have happened. Qrow thought back to the good times they had had on the farm together--plowing fields together, laughing as they tried to free a troublesome stone from the soil, spending hours quietly side-by-side as they pulled weeds.

Qrow closed his eyes, and sighed. If only he could go back--go simply live in this moments, and be happy for them. He let go of the amulet, and let his hand drop to his side, as he slowly sank down and curled up on the ground. The ground was soft and cool against his skin, and as his fingers closed around a handful of dirt, he reminisced on how nice it had felt to plant the vegetable garden with Clover, arguing over where to put the carrots.

_Dirt. There was no dirt here._

Qrow opened his eyes.

The farm stretched out around him--or at least, a vision of the farm did. He could tell it wasn’t real--he saw only the outlines of shapes, like the scene was a charcoal sketch. But for the first time in an eternity, the world around him had depth, had form.

Qrow wept at the sight, one hand clenched over his mouth as he sobbed. He looked around him--the familiar landscape appeared to go on in every direction. He ran around to the front of the house--there was the road, and over there the stables.

Qrow sank to his knees, feeling the soft, cool grass beneath him. This wasn’t home--but it was close. That must mean he was close. He looked around, anxiously, breathing heavily, trying to decide how to proceed. As he watched, a flock of small birds fluttered from the nearby forest, and came to rest in the bare branches of the maple tree that stood next to the cottage, its leaves having fallen long ago. Qrow looked more closely--magpies, perhaps. He counted--twelve. 

A chill ran through Qrow’s spine, as he clambered to his feet. The magpies cried out, loud, chittering laughs that filled the air in an oppressive cacophony. Qrow ran back around the house to the fields, and saw the charcoal outlines of the crops begin to wilt before his eyes.

 _No, no, no,_ he thought. There was a crackling sound behind him, and then a loud crash. He spun--the cottage was on fire, crude charcoal outlines of flames leaping high into the sky through the remains of the thatched roof.

Qrow sank to his knees and wailed in anguish. Even here, even now, in this fever-dream of hope he had built, he could not escape his misfortune. He beat the ground with his fists in anger, and curled up into a ball, rocking himself back and forth in his anger and his sorrow.

Some time passed, and Qrow began breathing more easily. He cleared his mind, and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes, the featureless white expanse had returned.

He sighed.

That was a clue, at least. He could summon a crude facsimile of the farm, if he concentrated hard enough. Perhaps if he continued to concentrate, he could keep misfortune from befalling the farm.

Qrow took a deep breath, and began to focus on his memories of Clover and the farm. He thought of quiet evenings at the kitchen table, when Clover would read to him by candlelight, from one of the several books in the cottage. He thought of blissful rides out to the meadows, the wind in their hair, their horses’ warm flanks beneath their legs. He thought of snowy winters, when they would go out into the fields after the morning chores and pile the snow into small fortresses.

He opened his eyes--the charcoal outline of the farm had returned, and there were no magpies, no wilting crops, no fire. He heaved a sigh of relief. As he gazed at his farm, however, the magpies flew over from the forest. Their chittering filled the air, the crops wilted, and the cottage collapsed in a fiery blaze. 

Qrow tried again. He tried again, and again, and again. Each time, he drew on different memories, concentrated harder, continued to concentrate on the memories even after opening his eyes. And every time, the magpies arrived, the crops wilted, and the cottage burned before his eyes. 

The last time he tried, he had had enough. As the flames began to leap from the thatched roof, he decided that he would try to salvage something--anything--from the home they had built inside. He would not let his misfortune take their home from him so completely. He rushed forward to the cottage door, and kicked it open.

As Qrow crossed the threshold of the burning cottage, however, his world turned inside out. His head swam as every direction suddenly seemed to reverse itself, and he felt himself falling, tumbling endlessly.

And then he was once again standing steadily--but no longer was he in a broad, featureless white expanse, nor was he surrounded by the wreckage of his misfortune. Now, in every direction he looked, he saw…. Himself. And Clover. He saw themselves sitting together over meals, he saw themselves cooking together, tending to fields together, reading together--any scene he could think of that they had shared together, he saw it mirrored in the space around him. The scenes appeared to stretch on in every direction, off into infinity--as if he were in a funhouse of mirrors, only every reflection showed a different scene. As Qrow’s eyes flitted hungrily from scene to scene, he realized that he didn’t recognize every scene. Some seemed to be on the farm, but he was sure had never happened, while others were unmistakably alien--depicting scenes from worlds nothing like his own. In each scene, he was there with Clover. In some scenes, many of the scenes, Raven was there too. But in his own scene, where he stood alone at the infinite mirrors of other worlds, he was alone. And as Qrow marvelled at the unending sights, he noticed another difference between himself and the many happy scenes around him.

In none of the other scenes were any of them wearing the necklaces with the green amulets. Qrow looked down at the silver-and green crystal hanging against his chest. With a moment’s hesitation, he lifted up the silver chain, and pulled the necklace up and over his head.

The moment that the necklace came over his head, the infinite scenes vanished, and he was back in the white, featureless plain. Qrow quickly put the necklace back, and just as quickly, the scenes returned. 

Qrow understood then why Maria had been so distraught that Clover’s necklace had been damaged. This necklace was the key to eternity. If Clover was trapped in here without a functioning key, he would never leave, nor would he see any of what Qrow was seeing--he wouldn’t see the infinite scenes of domestic bliss they could share together. 

Qrow took a step forward, toward the scenes before him. In a house of mirrors, most directions were blocked by the mirror, while others revealed the true path. Perhaps this was similar. As he stepped into a nearby scene, however, he realized there were no barriers--he was free to move between them as he wished. He pushed onwards, running from scene to scene, looking for any sign of his own, lost Clover. 

As he ran, moving from scene to scene, Qrow began to realize that he no longer knew which direction was up--the scenes did not join to each other at right angles, and as he moved from scene, his perspective had shifted again and again. If he had to retrace his steps, he would be well and truly lost. He gripped the candle tighter, remembering what Maria had said about it showing the way home. He pushed onward, letting his gut instinct direct him from scene to scene, tracing out a winding, sinuous path through infinity. 

Eventually, Qrow began to see flashes of movement from the corners of the scenes as he entered. He could never catch more than the briefest glimpse, and he could never be sure where the thing--whatever it was--had fled, as the bizarre geometry of this space meant it was impossible to simply walk in a straight line. Whatever it was may have fled into the scene that appeared nearby, or perhaps it had fled into a neighboring scene that appeared to be far away. Qrow gradually came to understand that in this space, both direction and distance were meaningless. Nonetheless, he pushed on, following his gut.

The sightings became more and more frequent--a dark, writhing black shadow that flitted across the scenes. As he pushed deeper, the scenes began to flow together, until no longer was it a fleeting shadow flickering across the corner of a room or a row of plants, but a squirming black shape swimming ahead of him in a torrent of memories. As Qrow forged on ahead, the torrent became stronger and more turbulent, and the black shadow he was chasing was joined by others, all squirming against the torrent.

Qrow took a deep breath, and with one steady, careful step after another, pushed deeper, as the torrential cascade of infinite memories swirled around him in a dizzying cosmic maelstrom of incandescently happy memories and ominous shadow. The gale built and built as he pushed, until finally, with a grunt, he pushed through, and was out--he stood in a small expanse of calm, surrounded by the raging hurricane. 

And there, in the centre of the eye of the storm, was Clover, curled up on the ground. A writhing mass of black shadows swarmed around him, and Qrow saw with a start that Clover was covered in scratches and cuts. Some seemed old, while others were fresh--as he watched, a black shape dove in close, tearing a gash in Clover’s clothes, an angry red wound opening beneath the tear. 

Qrow rushed forward angrily and tried to shoo the black shapes away. They recoiled very slightly, but several lashed out at Qrow, rewarding him with painful cuts to his hands and arms, before they resumed their furious swarming around Clover. Qrow frantically looked around for anything with which he could find the dark shapes--he assumed these must be the Grimm. 

Qrow remembered then what Clover had said about the necklace. It was for protection. Maria had said it would not protect a gnat from the Grimm--but she had also said it would not protect against anything in that world. 

Were they still in that world? Or did this place exist somewhere else, somewhere outside time and reality?

Maybe the amulet would not protect against the Grimm in the world of the farm--but perhaps here, in this liminal space between realities, it would. Qrow gripped the amulet tightly in his hand--if he forewent its protections, he would also lose his ability to see this place, and be plunged back into the featureless plain. Maybe if he kept it wrapped around his hand, that would suffice. He twisted the chain around his wrist as he carefully, slowly slid the necklace up over his head--and then it was free, and the amulet was bound only to his hand and wrist. 

Around him the maelstrom continued to rage, and Clover was still there, before him, being assaulted by the Grimm. Qrow stepped forward carefully, his hand outstretched, the amulet clutched in his fist. As he neared Clover, this time the black shapes shied away, swirling around Clover’s far side. 

_Okay. Progress._ Qrow stepped closed, and closer, until he was right next to Clover. The black shapes had retreated to a safe distance, and now formed a swirling shell around them a few metres away. Qrow knelt, and placed a hand on Clover. The other man was covered in lacerations, and did not move at Qrow’s touch. Qrow carefully rolled him over onto his back, and was relieved to see Clover’s chest rise and fall gently with shallow breaths. Qrow reached out, and gently touched the green amulet that hung around Clover’s neck--it was cold. 

Qrow thought for a moment about what to do. He remembered from the forest how heavy Clover could be when unresponsive--and he certainly could not carry Clover all the way back, even with the guidance of the candle. And if he gave the Grimm an opening, they would certainly attack Clover. Perhaps….Qrow didn’t appear to need to wear the amulet to receive its protections. Perhaps simply being in contact with it was enough. It was worth a shot.

Qrow set the candle down on the ground, and took one of Clover’s hands in his own, intertwining their fingers in a tight embrace. If this didn’t work--he wanted to be sure he would not lose Clover again. Clover’s hand felt real in his own--solid, firm, with its calloused palm and gently-scarred fingers, and warm, still full of life. Qrow’s heart leapt as he realized that Clover was warm--his skin lacked the cold clamminess that it’d had as he lay unresponsive in bed. Clover would be okay. He wasn’t too late. He just had to revive Clover, and get him home.

Qrow carefully let some of the necklace’s chain fall away from the hand that clasped the amulet, and slowly, carefully, brought the necklace over Clover’s head. He let out more and more chain, until he could pull the necklace all the way down, and bring the amulet to rest on Clover’s chest. His hand trembled as, with a few free fingers, he fumbled with the button on Clover’s jerkin, until he had managed to pull back some of the leather. His heart pounding and racing in his ears, he slowly slid the amulet through, and onto Clover’s bare skin.

The shell of black Grimm swarming around them darted back, until they were caught in the swirling wall of the maelstrom and whisked away. Clover took a big, gasping breath, his chest heaving upwards, and his eyelids fluttered open, revealing two bright, glowing green orbs.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qrow and Clover have finally found each other--now and for forever.

Clover looked up at Qrow, his eyes two glowing green lights, devoid of iris or pupil--just two endless reservoirs of green. But he was awake. Qrow gave a laugh of joy, as he felt tears streak down his cheeks. Clover was back. 

“Q-Qrow?” Clover said softly, his voice hoarse.

“Yes, yes, Clover, it’s me, I’m here,” Qrow said, leaning close over Clover. He took his hand from the amulet, holding Clover’s hand tight with his other, and reached for Clover’s free hand. When his searching fingers found Clover’s palm, he gasped, as green electricity crackled across their hands. He looked with surprise at Clover, and saw waves of green electric light ripple across Clover’s form, and then down his arms, and into Qrow’s hands.

Memories flooded Qrow’s mind--he remembered. He remembered playing cards together, at a table in a break room. He remembered standing on the deck of a ship, gun in hand. And he remembered soaring through space, his glittering wings-- _ Harbinger _ \--stretched wide to receive sunlight, before swooping back into the fight. He remembered diving into a gas giant’s atmosphere, to push Clover’s ship out. He remembered darting and weaving through a fight, as hot pellets of plasma rained past him, slamming into the Aura of the enormous ship beneath him, as he threw out every trick he knew to stay alive and gain the advantage over his attackers, and then making up new tricks. He remembered seeing Raven’s black and red ship twirling through space, lasers flashing, as they tried desperately to fight off the Grimm horde that had cornered them against the massive dreadnought’s lone vulnerability. And he remembered Raven spooling up her experimental Folding Device one last time, and seeing the portal swirl open--and he remembered Clover’s anxious pleas, his warnings that Raven had never tried a jump like this. He remembered locking eyes with Raven across the space between their ships, sharing a silent moment of siblings’ agreement, and diving together into the portal, pulling into a tight spiral around each other as they entered the temporal tempest, fighting to stay together as the torrent flowed past them--and then the terror and chaos, as the turbulence of the stream bucked them apart, and Raven tumbled away into the swirling eternity of infinite realities, and he himself careened away into his own jumbled mess of time. 

Qrow brought himself back to the present, remembering who he was--why he was here, and why Clover was here. Another pulse of energy flowed down Clover’s arms, and suddenly Qrow saw so much more--he saw his future stretching away ahead of him, and his past behind him--both pasts, the manufactured past of this broken timeline they were in, and the real past he had come from. And then he saw beyond--he saw other futures, other pasts, stretching away into the infinity of the eternal space they were in. All the scenes he had raced through in his search for Clover--mere snapshots of all the lives they lived together, in a roiling, churning sea of reality, which now swirled around them--two beings that had found each other, not just in their own history, but in fact in every history, and had now found each other once more, in the space beyond the histories.

Qrow looked at Clover, and for a moment saw himself, as Clover saw him--kneeling over him, his eyes two glowing, bright red orbs--and realized that Clover had seen the same thing. He had seen them together across every reality, had seen their futures, had realized the bond they shared--and he was here, holding Qrow’s hands, squeezing them, gazing into Qrow’s eyes. He could feel Clover willing him to understand, and then he saw Clover recognize that he did understand--and that nothing again could ever separate them.

Qrow bent close, taking his hands from Clover’s. He slid one hand behind Clover’s head, brushing an errant lick of brown hair away from his forehead with the other hand, small arcs of red electricity playing across his fingertips. He lowered his head, feeling his nose brush Clover’s, and the warmth of Clover’s breath, as Clover began to lift himself up toward Qrow. 

Their lips met, and Qrow melted into Clover, allowing himself to fold into Clover’s embrace, his fingers digging tightly into Clover’s soft hair. Clover’s strong fingers worked their way into Qrow’s tufts of feathery black hair, and his other arm wrapped around Qrow’s waist, pulling him close. 

They kissed, their warm breath mingling as they found each other over and over again, across every timeline and in every reality. Qrow’s entire cosmic being, a rope made of infinite threads of existence all twining around each other, wrapped itself around Clover’s, the filaments of their lives together darting and weaving and braiding together a luminous tapestry. Around them, the currents of eternity roared and swirled, enveloping them in the comforting embrace of fate.

Finally, they pulled apart, breathing deeply, slowly, not wanting to ever separate fully--nuzzling each other’s cheeks, simply letting their noses touch, then pressing their foreheads together as they caught their breath. 

Qrow opened his eyes, and saw Clover do the same--behind his eyelids were the same beautiful, striking green irises he had known and stared into all those years--an eternity of years, he now realized. He laughed, unable to contain his joy at having Clover back.

“Hey, Cloves,” he said softly. “I’ve missed you.”

Clover grinned, and squeezed Qrow’s hand. “I missed you so much, Qrow. Three years, I worked so hard to come and find you--we all did. And then I found you, and I--I forgot. I forgot what you were to me. And then I forgot so much--and lost myself. And you--you found me, you reminded me, who I was, who you were, who we are.” Clover looked deep into Qrow’s eyes. “I love you, Qrow,” he said. “In every life. In every universe. You and me. Together. Forever and always.”

Qrow smiled, and pushed forward into another kiss. “I love you too, plant boy,” he murmured. 

As they pulled apart, Qrow noticed that the candle, which he had set on the ground next to them, was lit.

Qrow picked up the candle, as they rose to their feet. Clover’s lacerations had already begun to heal, green and red electricity playing across the wounds, stitching the skin shut. Qrow held Clover’s hand tightly, and stepped into the maelstrom of eternity.

With each step, the torrent flowed past them with impossible speed, the light of the candle carving open a tunnel ahead of them. They walked faster and faster, and then broke into a jog, as the memories of their lives flowed past, then the multitude of scenes were racing past, and then, ahead, the white expanse.

And in the middle of the white expanse, an open door.

The door to their cottage.

Qrow and Clover, hand in hand, took one final step through the door.

\--

Clover opened his eyes. He was lying in bed--Qrow’s bed, it seemed. Rays of morning sunlight filtered in through the curtains. And Qrow was sitting on the bed next to him, leaning over him, watching him intently. He smiled--and remembered. He remembered where he had come from, where he was, and what had happened. And he saw in Qrow’s eyes that he remembered too. And the way Qrow gazed down at him--lovingly--he knew that Qrow understood what he had seen in the rift, had realized the same thing about their connection to each other. 

Clover reached over and found Qrow’s hand. He squeezed it, and a tear ran down Qrow’s cheek. Clover opened his arms, and Qrow leaned down into Clover’s embrace. Clover held him tightly, his own cheeks growing hot and wet, as they held each other, shaking with the pent-up grief of their years apart, and the joy and relief at finding each other. 

Clover drew back with a sniffle, and brushed the droopy black bangs out of Qrow’s eyes. He was so beautiful, so handsome, with those striking red eyes--so full of mischief, yet also brimming with ancient pains, and the lessons of years. Clover pushed himself up onto one elbow, threw his arm around Qrow’s neck, and pulled him into a kiss.

This time, there was no swirling eternity, no mind-bending union of infinite realities. It was simply a kiss--between two men who had found each other, developed an unbreakable bond, lost each other, and then, against all the odds, found each other once more. But it was the most important kiss of Clover’s life--his first real kiss with Qrow Branwen, the man he was destined to find in every life, in every timeline. 

“I take it you’ve sorted things out, then?” a voice asked--an old woman’s voice. 

Clover broke away from Qrow, and looked past his shoulder--a very short, old woman sat on the chair, her feet dangling above the floor, her hands clasped on the head of a wooden staff--a head made of a polished skull, with gemstones set in the eyes and on the teeth. She wore a black strip of cloth over her eyes, through which two blue lights glowed.

“Who’s this?” Clover asked Qrow.

The woman hopped down from the chair and slowly approached the bed. As she approached Clover, she reached out a hand, and firmly shoved Qrow aside. Even though she was standing, without kneeling at all, she was still only at eye-level with Clover. She looked into his eyes--or at least he assumed she did. But as she gazed at him, he felt that she was seeing into him.

She grinned. “Someone who’s seen the same things you have,” she said, turning and beginning to walk towards the bedroom door. “Best of luck on your way home, Captain Clover Ebi of the Atlas Fleet, second-best pilot in the Federatsiya.”

Clover gaped after her, while Qrow hurriedly rose to his feet.

“Wait, Maria--” he said, as she left the bedroom. “My sister is out there somewhere. Do you know where?”

The woman stopped, and shook her head sadly. “I know many things. I have seen many things. I know that your sister is out there somewhere, and that she is no longer in the Federatsiya. But I am, unlike you, of this world. I am bound to it, and cannot travel between realms as you can. I’m afraid I can help you no further when it comes to your sister. If you wish to find her, you will be on your own.”

“Still--thank you,” Qrow said, reaching out and clasping her hand in his own. “You helped me bring back Clover--and because of you, we know we have to go home. I know we don’t belong here--but is there anything we can do to repay you?”

“You can get the hell out of here!” Maria said. “Like you said, it’s not your timeline! Get the hell out and leave this one to me! You’re mucking things up enough as it is.”

Qrow chuckled and nodded, and Maria began walking down the hallway, toward the cottage door.

“Wait! Maria!” Clover shouted after her. “What do you mean, second-best pilot?”

“You and I both know that Qrow Branwen is the better pilot!” she called back. Then, with the sound of a door slam, she was gone. 

Qrow and Clover looked at each other, and laughed. When they had calmed down, Qrow sat back down on the bed. “Now then,” he said. “I think we have a lot of catching up to do.”

\--

The next day, they packed up their things. Only their clothes and the necklaces were reliably theirs, from the timeline of the Federatsiya (though their clothing fashions looked nothing like those of the Federatsiya, Clover assumed this transformation was part of crossing from timeline to another). But they also packed the handful of books in the cottage, as well as some food for the journey. If nothing else, the books and food could be a small memento of the memories they had on this farm, even if some of the memories weren’t real. 

They tacked up the horses (Clover was relieved to find that even with his restored memories, he nonetheless had his skills and memories from his past here--he knew how to tack up a horse, and how to ride it), and after bidding one final, fond farewell to the farm, set off down the road.

They stopped at Robyn Hill’s farm, where they attempted to explain to her what was going on. Clover was fairly certain that they only succeeded in convincing her that they had eaten some bad potatoes, and were going off to die. She was however bewildered by Clover’s recovery--he was the first person in known history to have recovered from a Grimm attack. She was even more bewildered when he told her that the farm was hers, if she wanted it--either to run, or to lease to someone else. It was after all of no use to him where they were going, but if an old friend like Robyn could benefit, especially after the loss of her husband, that was the least he could do.

“You know,” Qrow said. “Sister Calavera talked a lot on the ride back to the farm. The convent has a number of young women who end up there for a number of reasons, but aren’t cut out to be nuns. And not all of them have Sister Maria Calavera’s talents for the arcane. Perhaps some of them would make tenants on the farm--they could work the land, keep you company,” he suggested.

Robyn nodded. “It’s not a bad idea,” she said. “I’ll think about it. Thanks, you two--both of you. I don’t know where you’re really going, or what you’ve gotten into your heads, but this really is a very generous gift.”

They said their goodbyes to Robyn, and continued along the road. Before long, they came to the familiar forest, where Clover had come through, and then later succumbed to the Grimm. 

They slowly urged their horses into the underbrush, picking their way around trees and through gullies, as they worked their way deeper into the trees. This time, there was no discordant pressure from the Grimm. 

Eventually, they came to the rock outcropping, a large, gray cliff face that rose high above the forest floor. Large, sinuous pink quartz seams wound their way through the rock, culminating in a large star-shaped mass near the ground. 

Qrow and Clover came to halt a few meters from the cliff.

Clover looked over to Qrow. “You know,” he said, “we have a decision to make.” Qrow nodded thoughtfully, gazing up at the quartz seams. “We can go home,” Clover continued, “but Raven is still out there. We have two necklaces left. That may be enough to find her too, and bring her home as well. But if another one breaks--there’s no guarantee we’ll get home.”

Qrow nodded, and looked over to Clover. He thought for a moment, then reached out a hand. Clover reached across the gap between their horses, and took Qrow’s hand. Qrow gave Clover’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“I think you know how I feel, Shamrock,” he said, softly.

Clover nodded. He did know--he had seen Qrow in every timeline, across every reality. He knew who Qrow was. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I do.”

Qrow and Clover gripped their hands tightly, and Qrow reached up to his neck with his other hand. He lifted the necklace, and squeezed the green crystal in his hand. The pink crystalline veins in the rock began to glow brightly, and then shifted across the rock face, widening and reshaping themselves, until a large, glowing pink portal had opened in the base of the cliff.

Clover looked over at Qrow. They smiled at each other. Clover squeezed Qrow’s hand, and they urged  _ Kingfisher _ and  _ Harbinger _ forward, across the portal, and into eternity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading, and getting this far! Writing this fic has been one of the most fun things I've ever done, and I'm incredibly pleased to have come to this conclusion, even if it did take one more day than would have been ideal--I apologize to everyone who was left with a cliffhanger waiting for the final chapters! These last chapters are unedited, so there may be minute changes as I go back and reread in the coming days. If you find something, though, and I haven't caught it yet, please do let me know.
> 
> The conception of the Grimm in this fic is shamelessly stolen from a most-incredible Dungeons and Dragons podcast called [Dames and Dragons](https://www.damesanddragons.com/)\--one of their recent side quests featured a phenomenon much like the Grimm in this story, and I liked it so much I stole it. I'm so sorry to those wonderful writers and actors; you should all go listen to their podcast to make up for it. It's truly excellent.
> 
> I also need to thank some people in particular. First, I need to thank [delta_altair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/delta_altair) and [thedarkpoet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedarkpoet)\--your support, encouragement, feedback, and beta-reading has always been so valuable, and you both know that I would have written exactly zero words of fanfiction were it not for your influences. Second, I need to thank everyone who read along during Fair Game Weekend--your encouragement and excitement as I was writing was necessary fuel. I didn't know when I was writing this if people would like it or not, so hearing you all go feral over my cliffhangers gave me so much energy and motivation to continue writing. In addition to delta_altair and thedarkpoet, I want to particularly thank Chiherah, Banana, river, and Yin--your constant, enthusiastic support for this fic was so overwhelming. I love you all. And synvamp--you were so incredibly enthusiastic about this idea when I first mentioned it, and honestly that was all the encouragement I needed. Finally, I need to give a shout-out to [afoolforatook](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afoolforatook): your Anthology of Affection series has been an absolute inspiration, and the way you write emotion, love, and the tender moments of a kiss leaves me enraptured, and many moments in this fic have been undoubtedly influenced by your style. Thank you for being such an important influence in my life.
> 
> And thank you again, to all of you. This fandom is truly one of the greatest things in any timeline, of any universe.


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